Star Trek - Blish, James - 12

by 12(lit)

  Star Trek - Blish, James - 12

  STAR TREK 12 November 1977

  FOREWORD

  As some of you may know, James Blish died on July 30,1975.

  Star Trek 12 was almost completed. So many letters! We couldn't disappoint everybody by leaving this series unfinished. So Mr. Roddenberry, Bantam Books and Paramount all very kindly agreed that I could write up the last two scripts-"Shore Leave" and "And the Children Shall Lead"-so we could get this book to all of you who have asked for it, with apologies for the delay.

  The two appendices in the back, which list the epi-sodes of this series, were suggested by Miss Gail A. Piedmont, to whom many thanks for the idea.

  You may perhaps wonder about the two stories con-cerning Harry Mudd-"Mudd's Women" and "I, Mudd." Mr. Blish did indeed write these, but he planned to extend them to novel length, with some additional adventures. So in fear and trepidation, I am tackling that too, and it will be along presently.

  Please, everybody, neither Mr. Blish nor I ever had the privilege of meeting the actors, much less could we obtain their autographs for you. And now Mr. Blish's own autograph is unobtainable. If you want pictures and other materials, write to Star Trek Enterprises, P.O. Box 38429, Hollywood, California 90038.

  In Star Trek 3, Mr. Blish explained why he had to return some manuscripts from readers unread. Please note again that it is not possible to even look at them, partly for legal reasons; moreover, it is very frustrating to have to send them right back to you. He suggested that writing original science fiction and sending your stories to the magazines would be easier and more re-warding than writing scripts for an existing television program.

  Thank you for all your many letters. James enjoyed reading them very much. Many of you ask why he wrote science fiction. He liked to, that's why! (So do I.) Live long and prosper,

  Judith A. Lawrence

  (Mrs. James Blish)

  Athens

  February 1977PREFACE

  It's question time again, so without further ado:

  A number of you have asked me how I came to write these adaptations in the first place. The answer is simple and unglamorous: Bantam Books asked me to, out of the blue as it were. I had no connections with Star Trek and hadn't even written a script for the show, though several friends of mine had. I had seen the pilot film at a science-fiction convention and had watched the show on television, but my only real quali-fications were first, that I had written about two dozen other science-fiction books, including a Hugo winner; and second, that I had also written television and film scripts.

  I took on the job to see if I would like it, for one book. I did; and, furthermore, your letters convinced me that you made up a huge new audience for science fiction, one that had never been reached by the spe-cialized magazines (and more often than not had been put off by the monster movies that had been Holly-wood's usual caricature of science fiction). The rest is history-thirteen books of it now. Whew.

  How many more will I write? I hope to go on until I've used up all the scripts. There may also be another ST novel.

  I have very often been asked why my adaptations sometimes differ in some respects from the shows as actually shown. (Apparently many of you tape-record the broadcasts, or own copies of the scripts or nave them by heart.) About one letter in every ten poses this question, a few of them quite indignantly. The answer to that is a little more complex:

  1. The scripts that I have to work from are theoretically shooting scripts, or final drafts, and I almost always try to be as faithful to their texts as length permits. Sometimes, however, there seem to have been last-minute changes made which are not reflected in mycopies.

  2. Star Trek people have frequently reported that brand new speeches, bits of business and so on were occasionally introduced during the actual production and filmed without ever having been written down formally. Obviously, no existing script would show these, although transcripts would catch a few.

  3. Television and the printed word are in some respects quite different media, and this shows up especially sharply in science fiction, where more often than not it's necessary to explain the technical or scientific reasons behind what is going on. A television show simply cannot stop the action for detailed explanations; but I can work such explanations into a story version, and I do when I think it's necessary.

  4. On one occasion-and one only-the ending of a show just did not seem to me to make much sense when reduced to cold typescript, though it went over well enough on the tube. I worked out a new ending which I thought would stand up better to re-reading, and asked Paramount's permission to make the change, which they readily granted. I repeat, I did this only once, and long ago; it's not a privilege I mean to abuse.

  Thank you again for your letters; I only wish I could answer them.

  James Blish

  STAR TREK 12

  PATTERNS OF FORCE

  (John Meredyth Lucas)

  Officially, the mission was location of a missing cul-tural observer assigned to Ekos, sister planet of Zeon in a double system. But both Kirk and Spock had per-sonal interest invested in the whereabouts of John Gill. The missing man had been Kirk's instructor at the Space Academy. As to Spock, he'd studied his Earth history from a John Gill text. Now, as the Enterprise entered into orbit around Ekos, the inner planet, the two men looked at the distinguished face projected on-to the bridge screen.

  Kirk remembered it well. "Lieutenant Uhura, try to raise John Gill on Starfleet communication channels."

  "Aye, sir."

  "Jim, Starfleet's been trying for six months," McCoy said. "If he's still alive, isn't it unlikely he'd receive us now?"

  "I don't know, Doctor. We're here to find out what's happened because I don't know."

  "No response on any Starfleet channel, Captain," Uhura reported.

  Spock, his eyes still on the screen, said, "What im-pressed me most was Gill's treatment of history as causes and motivations rather than dates and events. His text was-"

  Chekov interrupted. "Spacecraft approaching from the inner planet, Captain."

  "From Ekos?"

  The question sent Spock back to his station. Check-ing his own viewer, he said, "Yes, Captain. But it must be a Zeon ship. The Zeons have a crude interplane-tary capability." He leaned closer to his viewer. "Re-action powered. A small rocket. And it's on an inter-cept course." He lifted his head to look at Kirk. "That means sophisticated detection equipment that neither Zeon nor Ekos should have."

  Kirk, nodding, swung his chair to Uhura. "Try ship-to-ship frequencies, Lieutenant."

  Spock spoke again. "No indication of life aboard, Captain. It's an unmanned probe which seems to be carrying a warhead."

  Kirk spoke, "Standby phasers, Mr. Chekov."

  "Phasers ready, sir."

  "Range, Mr. Chekov?"

  "Two hundred kilometers, sir. Closing fast."

  "Fire," Kirk said.

  John Gill's face vanished from the screen. In its stead, a blue-white flare of light flashed. The bridge trembled under shock waves.

  "A thermonuclear warhead," Spock said.

  McCoy stared at him. "But that's generations away from where these people should be technologically! How could they have managed nuclear physics?"

  Kirk, recalling the brilliant eyes of John Gill, said, "Maybe they had help."

  It was unthinkable. But a Starship Captain had to oblige himself to think the unthinkable. The ugly fact remained that John Gill's Ekos had launched attack on the Enterprise. "Mr. Chekov, plot us a maximum orbit. Let's get out of their detection equipment's range."

  "Orbit computed and locked in, sir."

  "Execute."

  As the impulse engines came on, Scott emerged from the elev
ator and Uhura said, "Still no response from John Gill on any channel, sir."

  "He must be dead," McCoy said. "And what's go-ing on down there on Ekos?"

  Spock looked up. "According to our records, the Ekosians are warlike, primitive, in a state of anarchy. Zeon, the other planet, has a relatively high technology, and its people are peaceful."

  Kirk got up to go to the computer station. "You're saying that the people with the war potential aren't warlike, Mr. Spock. So who threw that missile at us?"

  "Our computer data appear to be considerably out of date, Captain. Obviously, things have been happen-ing very rapidly on Ekos."

  Kirk took a brief pace of the bridge. "Mr. Spock, we've run into something more disturbing than John Gill's disappearance. You and I will beam down to Ekos."

  Scott said, "After what they just threw at us, I sug-gest a landing party in force, sir."

  "No. We'll observe the non-interference directive, Scotty."

  "Jim," McCoy said, "I think he's got a good-"

  "All right. We'll take one precaution. Bones, pre-pare subcutaneous transponders in the event we're un-able to use our communicators."

  "Captain, may I suggest the ship's uniform section prepare clothing suitable to the culture?"

  "You may indeed, Mr. Spock."

  McCoy performed the simple operation in the Trans-porter Room. His patients had changed into nonde-script denim work clothes, Spock wearing a stocking cap to hide his ears. Rolling up a sleeve, Kirk said, "All right, Doctor, insert the transponders." McCoy used a hypo to inject the tiny devices into their left wrists. They rolled down their sleeves to cover the small bumps. Then Kirk spoke to Scott.

  "Make one low pass to communication range in three hours, Scotty. If we fail to make contact at the appointed time, take our coordinates from the trans-ponders-and beam us aboard, whatever our condition might be."

  Scott was glum. "Aye, Captain. Whatever your con-dition."

  The two stepped onto the platform.

  "Energize," Kirk said.

  Scott moved dials. The Transporter shimmer spar-kled.

  "Good luck!" McCoy shouted.

  But they were gone.

  The time on Ekos was day, and the place they ar-rived in was a street-a street appropriate to an Earth of the Twentieth Century. Looking around him, Spock said, "The Ekosians are humanoid, so there is apt to be a certain similarity in structure. It is interesting how body form tends to shape the structure of-"

  "Mr. Spock, we're not here to do an architectural study. We are-"

  Kirk broke off at sudden shouts and the sound of running feet. A young man, clearly spent and terrified, raced around the corner to their left, all his strength centered on his effort to elude his pursuers. He was al-most on top of the Enterprise men before he saw them. "Hide!" he panted. "They are right behind me! Quick-ly! Get away..."

  He sank to his knees, his lungs heaving. The shout-ing behind him grew louder. Spock pulled Kirk into the shadow of a doorway as three armed men rounded the corner. They wore the brown shirts of Nazi Storm Troopers, their left arms encircled by black bands marked with red circles. In the center of each circle was a black swastika.

  "There's the Zeon pig!"

  They surrounded the kneeling man. "On your feet, pig!" One of the troopers kicked the man. It was a good game. The others joined in it.

  Kirk's hand had instinctively reached for his phaser. Spock checked him. "The non-interference directive, Captain."

  "Hands over your head, Zeon. Higher!"

  The man's mouth was bleeding. Gratified by sight of the blood, the biggest trooper yelled, "Keep those hands in the air! Don't touch anything Ekosian! You swine have defiled us enough! Move!" He planted a heavy foot in the man's back and sent him sprawling. Then his victim was jerked to his feet to be marched away.

  The horrified Kirk spoke to Spock. "It's a nightmare. Did you recognize those uniforms? That armband?"

  "Mid-Twentieth Century Earth. A nation state called Nazi Germany, Captain."

  "Attention! Attention! Attention!"

  The newscaster's voice came from a loudspeaker set on a post a few yards away. As its square TV screen lighted up, the voice said, "An announcer from Fhrer Headquarters... "

  A brown-shirted announcer, a flag bearing the Nazi emblem behind him, appeared on the screen. "Today," he said, "the Fhrer has ordered our glorious capital made Zeon free. Starting at dawn, our heroic troops began flushing out the Zeon monsters who have been poisoning our planet...."

  His face was replaced by the spectacle of burly SS men rounding up a group of pitifully frightened old men, women and children. One of the children was crying.

  Watching, Kirk said, "How could this have hap-pened? The chance of another planet developing a Nazi culture, using the forms, symbols, the uniforms of Twentieth Century Earth, is so fantastically slim that-"

  Spock interrupted. "Virtually impossible, Captain. Yet the evidence is quite clear."

  The screen was now showing shots of a panzer col-umn and troops goose-stepping under the roar of Stuka dive bombers. The uniformed announcer's voice was saying, "The Fhrer's Headquarters reports repulsing an attack by Zeon spacecraft. Our missiles utterly de-stroyed the enemy."

  Kirk turned to Spock. "The 'enemy' would have been the Enterprise. You look well, Mr. Spock, for having been utterly destroyed." He looked back at the screen. It now held the image of a vast amphitheater, massed with thousands upon thousands of cheering troops. Over the noise, the announcer said, "At this patriotic demonstration, Deputy Fhrer Melakon pre-sented the iron cross, second class, to Daras, Hero of the Fatherland."

  The scene changed to a close-up of a cold-faced, middle-aged man in uniform, flanked by Gestapo guards. A girl mounted the podium, wearing her uni-form with grace and style. Under its cap her blonde hair gleamed with a light of its own. Her beautiful face was grave with pride as Melakon pinned the decora-tion to the breast of her uniform.

  The announcer was back. He came to rigid atten-tion as he spoke. "Everywhere, preparations go for-ward for the final decision. Death to Zeon! Long live the Fatherland!"

  The TV camera left his face to focus on a huge poster on the wall behind him. Framed in black and red, its four corners were decorated with swastikas. It held a portrait.

  "Long live the Fhrer!" the announcer shouted, and, turning, gave the portrait a stiff-armed salute.

  The face in the portrait was that of John Gill.

  Older-but unmistakable.

  Kirk was stunned. "That's John Gill! The Fhrer!"

  "Fascinating!" Spock exclaimed.

  "You there!"

  They wheeled. They were facing an SS Lieutenant. The trooper's Luger was leveled at Kirk's stomach. "Zeons!" he cried. Then his eyes narrowed as he took another look at Spock. He whipped off the stocking cap with a yell of triumph. "What are those, ears? What kind of monsters are the Zeons sending against us?"

  Kirk caught Spock's eye. He signaled, and, stepping away from him, induced the SS man to turn slightly. "You're right, Lieutenant," he said. "He is not one of us."

  "What do you mean 'us'?"

  "Lieutenant, look out!"

  Spock timed his warning to a sideways leap. The officer's eyes followed him, centering on him just long enough for Kirk to move. He chopped him. The Lieu-tenant dropped.

  Kirk nodded to Spock. As they stripped the man of his uniform, Kirk said, "His helmet will conceal your 'monster' ears, Mr. Spock."

  "You propose that we pass ourselves off as Nazis, sir?"

  "If John Gill is the leader, this would seem the 'logi-cal' way to approach him."

  Shouldering into the uniform coat, Spock said, "A point well taken, Captain." Kirk eyed him in his full SS uniform. "Somewhat gaudy, Mr. Spock. But I think it's an improvement."

  Spock threw him a look of disgust. Cautiously, they edged out into the street. But their care didn't pay off. This time it was a Gestapo Lieutenant who accosted them. He had grabbed Kirk's shoulder, but as he recognized Sp
ock's uniform, he let it go.

  "A Zeon?"

  Spock nodded. "I captured him. Is that not the proper procedure with enemies of the Fatherland?"

  "With all Zeon pigs, Lieutenant."

  "Take charge of him," Spock said.

  "With pleasure." He seized Kirk again. "All right, Zeon, today we have a surprise for you. We-"

  He collapsed under the Vulcan neck pinch. Kirk looked down at the unconscious body. "I'm sorry, Spock, that your uniform isn't as attractive as mine is. I believe this is the Gestapo variety."